“GRACE, HURRY UP —IT’S ALMOST ON!” Eden’s voice rose over the chatter of the commercials.

Grace opened the oven, pulled out the taco dip. “Has anyone seen the serving spoons? Mom gave me a bunch.” She set the hot casserole dish on a cutting board, then began rooting through the boxes still lined up at the edge of the kitchen. She’d have the kitchen unpacked before Max returned from his road trip and conjure him up something tasty to help her and Raina christen their new apartment in Minneapolis.

“Try the box marked ‘kitchen stuff,’” Eden said, getting up and grabbing a bag of chips. “Or we can double dip, Grace. It’s just us.”

“And me,” Raina said, coming out of her room wearing an oversize Blue Ox fan shirt. Her belly protruded just enough to hint at the life inside her. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

She’d relaxed since the move to Minneapolis, even in the short time since they’d arrived, a sort of easiness, even hope descending over her. Of course, that probably came from the fact that she’d left town without telling her aunt anything about her condition —that would be an interesting conversation. But until Grace and Max’s wedding, Raina planned on hiding out with Grace.

Grace had no doubt Casper lingered not far from her mind. But she hadn’t spoken a word about either of Grace’s brothers since the night of Eden’s wedding. Not even to Eden, who’d discreetly noticed but hadn’t commented.

Time. Raina just needed time and a friend. Family.

Grace found the box, opened it. “Yeah, here’s my old apron and a bunch of plasticware. Mom gave me magnets off the fridge. And . . . a folder full of papers —weird.”

“She was probably cleaning off her desk,” Eden said, piling her plate with the cheesy dip. She went back to the game, where the announcer had begun his between-period commentary. “You know how she likes to pile stuff. Look through it; you might find your second-grade report card.”

Grace tucked the folder under her arm, then grabbed a plate with dip, giving in to the use of a chip as a spoon. Building her new business —Signature Weddings —took up all her spare time. It helped that one of Eden’s guests had signed on for her first event.

She settled on the sofa next to Eden. She might have preferred to watch the game at Eden and Jace’s place, on the huge flat-screen in their family room. But her tiny apartment had a charming homeyness with the hand-me-down furniture from her parents, the blankets and quilts from home.

On the television, the announcer showed highlights of Max’s goal, the way he raced around the back of the net and fell into the arms of his teammates.

How she loved to watch him embrace life.

They segued into bench shots, and she spotted Jace in one clip, his eyes dark as he yelled at the refs.

“When did Max say it would be on?”

“After the second period sometime.”

Raina joined them, sitting in an overstuffed chair covered with a blue quilt. “I still can’t believe he agreed to do it.”

“Why not? He’s so good with kids, and it’s a great opportunity to reach a huge audience.” Still, she knew he’d had to dig deep, trust God, to find the courage. It only made her love him more.

Grace opened the folder, began to sort through it. Christmas cards from friends, a magazine offer in an unopened envelope. It looked like a smattering of old mail, lying on the counter for months. Oh, Mother.

“When is your trip to Hawaii?” Raina asked Grace.

“January. Max wants to scout locations for the golf tournament.”

“Does he even play golf?” Eden asked.

“I don’t know. Probably. He does everything.” And why not? Embrace life while you can.

“You promise me you’re not going to do something crazy like elope while you’re there.”

Raina looked up, her eyes wide.

“No promises,” Grace said.

“Well, I suppose it might solve the problem of Owen and his hatred for Max.”

At the mention of Owen, Grace glanced at Raina. She didn’t look back.

“Oh, here it is!” Eden picked up the remote and turned up the volume.

A shot of Max scoring —one of last year’s clips —came on the screen. It freeze-framed and Max walked into view in front of it. “Many of you know me as Maxwell Sharpe, right wing for the St. Paul Blue Ox.”

He wore an apron that bore the Blue Ox logo over his team sweater. It only accentuated his wide shoulders, his hockey physique. His hair hung below his ears, and Grace saw herself in his arms, twirling it between her fingers. Then he smiled, that Maxwell Sharpe signature grin, and she recognized the man who’d charmed her into the wide ocean of life.

He stepped over to a kitchen, where a little girl about the age of six, with long blonde braids, wearing her own matching apron, sat at the counter. “But what you might not know is that someday, I won’t be fighting for a puck. I’ll be fighting for my life.”

Max opened the oven, pulled out a tray of cookies, set it on the counter. “As the son of a father who died of Huntington’s and a carrier of the faulty gene that causes the disease, my fate is a near surety.” He scooped cookies onto a plate. Handed it to the little girl. “But hers isn’t. Research for a cure has made great progress, and if we can figure out a cure for Huntington’s, we may also be able to treat Parkinson’s, ALS, and even Alzheimer’s.”

He picked up a cookie, leaned down, and smiled at the girl before taking a bite. Then he looked back at the camera. “Give the gift of a future. Donate to the Sharpe Foundation for Huntington’s Disease Awareness and Cure Research.”

The PSA ended on a screen shot of the foundation’s website and a picture of Max in his hockey uniform, about age twelve, posing with his invalid father.

The room went quiet even as the TV flipped to the Blue Ox players piling back out on the ice.

“Wow,” Eden said, reaching up to wipe her eye. “Yeah, that’s —”

“Eden, Max doesn’t want your pity. He wants your joy, your hope, your prayers. Okay?”

Eden nodded despite her wavering smile.

“Oh, my. I can’t believe it.” Grace pulled a crumpled envelope from the folder. “This is part two of the application for the Minneapolis Institute of Culinary Arts.” She opened it. “When did I get this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s an invitation to send in a unique recipe.” She looked at the postmark. “It came right during all the rush of mail from Darek and Ivy’s wedding. It must have gotten mixed up with it and then set aside. But . . .” Grace set the application on the table.

“So are you going to create a unique recipe?”

The Blue Ox took the ice. A close-up of Max showed his game face. Determination. Fierceness.

The face of courage.

The face she loved.

“I think I already have,” she said and reached for the dip. “Now it’s time to eat.”